The Man She Knew
by secretshipper
Summary: In midst of war and battle, Minerva remembers the man she went to school with. Minerva/Tom Riddle...Interesting thought! Dying to know your views on the matter.


**Moments of Minerva**

Minerva stares incredulously at the man in front of her. Voldemort was coming...to the school. He was coming to kill...He was coming to see her...Tom was coming back.

Minerva does not remember falling until the chair catches her. She clutches at her robes, frantically. How could she face him? Minerva was so alone now...Dumbledore was gone...The Death Eaters were already _in_ the school. What should I do? Dumbledore, tell me! She implored to the skies...

'I am acting on Dumbledore's Orders.' Minvera stares at the blessed boy, heaven sent and repeats his words.

She was not alone. She was _not_ weak. She could face him...again.

* * *

Minerva remembers him as the tall, dark, stunningly handsome man, five years her elder from when she stood trembling, in line to be sorted. He had caught her eye from the Slytherin table and gave her a slight nod. She blushed furiously and he smirked.

In Minerva's mind, his smirk faltered, slightly as the hat proclaimed Gryffindor. A small part of her wanted to rise from that seat and sit instead with those clad in emerald and silver.

She understands, many years later, that was the effect Tom Riddle had on her. Each day, she passed him in the corridors and he would smile at her. Acknowledge her with a slight inclination of his head.

Minerva was by no means a pretty child, with grey eyes and brown hair, so the fact that the most handsome man in school, deigned to noticed her, was remarkable.

To this day, she remember the first day of her second her. He had sauntered up to her, with a nonchalant whisper.

'So, first in your year at Transfiguration? Impressive.' Minerva nodded enthusiastically, but when she caught his eye, she looked down in fear. They scared her.

Deep…fathomless…Wild. They seemed…detached from the calm demeanor of his face.

Some days, it felt like he was taunting her with his supercilious smirk and his dark, distressing eyes. It was not a relationship, not even by platonic terms. Yet, she was drawn to him. At a point, she was even convinced she loved him.

He left, the year after that. Taking, unknowingly something of Minervas'. It was that small part of ourselves that we reserve especially for that person; that first crush, who makes our heart race; that person whom a glance with always make our hearts flutter.

She saw him, as Tom, only once after he left school in her seventh year. Late at night as she rushed along the seventh floor corridor to her common room, she collided with him, just past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

"I beg your pardon,' she said, staring at the once so familiar face.

'Minerva McGonagall. My, how you've grown,' he disparaged. He leant towards her, drawing a long finger along her cheek, in a caress.

'Tom?' she whispered unable to tear her eyes away from his once handsome face, now so cold, so aged.

'Enchanting girl' he whispered, reaching to kiss her hand.

At seventeen, Minerva, still with her plain grey eyes and plain brown hair, carries herself with grace and confidence in knowledge of her own intelligence and power, which leant her certain attractiveness.

She recoiled, slightly at his touch. This was not her Tom. Something lay behind that composed mask, yearning to break free; an indistinguishable madness.

'Still top in Transfiguration?' he asked, nonchalantly. She nodded surprised he still remembered. He leant towards, his eyes lighting up in a fervor. 'You could be of great use to me, Minerva. I have been searching for women like you.' She blushed, Minerva was unsettled by his tone. 'Intelligent, powerful…Pure.'

'So, it's true,' she gasped, her eyes wide, 'The killings, the 'Dark Lord'…'

'My infamy has spread far,' he smirked at her, 'You could go far with us…'

'Are you asking that I join this...this...No! I refuse to go along with your...your plans,' she exclaimed. She flung herself away from him, a look of digust etched on her face. His eyes grew stormy.

'Minerva, think of what you could be,' He gesticulated wildly, 'Power, Wealth...Men. There no limit to what I can give you.'

Her heart pounded in her throat. 'Isn't there any other way, Tom. Please, the muggle borns, they are people...they do not harm _you, _Dumbledore says-_' _her voice was a strangled whisper.

'Oh dear Minerva, I didn't think such an intelligent woman such as yourself would be so weak as to fall for the senile views of Dumbledore-'

Minvera held up her hand, pulling herself to her full height to stare at Riddle in the eye, 'Professor Dumbledore is by far a better wizard than you.'

'It seems I have overestimated you,' he considered her warily, his dark eyes turned red by the light of the setting sun. With that he had swept away from her.

That night, Minerva cried herself to sleep, picking up the broken pieces of her illusion. And over many years, the affection turned into disgust, anger and repulsion.

* * *

She would deny it to everyone, but she can't mistake that feeling in the pit of her stomach at the name 'Tom Riddle'. That little lurch as she remembers that man that she knew and the man that he grew to be...She can't forget his eyes, once so beautiful; his smile, so charming. Nor can she forget the fear he stirred in her either.

Minerva prides herself in being an excellent judge of character but she never again allowed herself to lose her head to her heart.

* * *

Minerva throws herself fervently into battle. Fighting comes naturally to her. Minerva is agile, powerful, daring.

Her age disappears as the adrenaline kicks in...She wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing,

Minerva slumpes heavily against the walls of her beloved school. The battle rages around her. Screams hexes and curses pound her ears.

She casts an anxious glance around and ducks into a nearby alcove. The sudden darkness surprises her to a standstill.

Each sharp movement sends shooting pains down her chest.

She presses a hand to spot where she was hit by the stunning spells, just the previous year.

She closes her eyes as the walls shake around her with another explosion...

She feels no remorse when his final curse flies towards the man she no longer recognizes. That man... that thing sprawled on the ground was not Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle died long ago.

* * *

_Hurrah! It's been edited and I quite like this!_

_Ok, the main point of this is a character sketch of Minerva MacGonagall...so more than the clearly weird ship, I hope you see the clear Gryffindor streak in her._

_Also, I think Canon/HP-Lexicon says that Minerva is older that Riddle by like 2 years, so I'm taking liberties in changing their ages a bit...& it is possible Minerva/Riddle...Riddle was handsome, intelligent n charming before he turned into an evil murderer..._

_PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!_


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